


Heavy Burden

by Lurkany



Category: Gears of War (Video Games)
Genre: Character Death, Drabble, Gen, Loss, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 10:29:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20637689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurkany/pseuds/Lurkany
Summary: War. A disease that plagues Sera. When one ends another begins. The cost of those wars are lives. And someone's always paying the price.





	Heavy Burden

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: contains spoilers for Gears of War 5. Do not read if you do not want spoilers.

Marcus has done it so many times it should be like breathing. Each set, even the ones he doesn't recognize, hurts.

But this…

Hollow is a word that touches on how he feels. It isn't strong enough. No where near the impact of how he truly feels. It doesn't quite describe the way his heart beats excruciatingly slow, forcing ice cold blood through his veins. It doesn't quite describe the disconnected feeling between his brain and his body. The way his body responds-run, gun up, dive!-while his brain flatlines. It doesn't quite describe the shaky, shallow breaths his body demands.

It can't describe the tracks of fire burned into his skin from the tears crawling down his cheeks. It can't capture the unrelenting screams, the pleading, for this to be a nightmare.

It can't begin to explain the weight.

Silence surrounds him. He doesn't know or care if it's because he can't hear them-anything-or if they're being polite. If their tongues are weighed too heavily to offer words or their hearts too numb to sob. It is a blessing, either way.

It lets the hollowness invade all his senses. It curls in and around like an unwanted blanket he's too familiar with. But this time it wraps around his neck. His chest. His heart. It's smothering that he can't breathe properly but cruel that it won't stop him from breathing.

It isn't fair.

Marcus carried him for many years. The first time when he was just a few pounds and easily fit in his arms. Tiny and fragile enough Anya laughed and told Marcus he wouldn't break him. When they finished planting trees and his back wanted to secede from his body, he carried him on his shoulders while he laughed. 

When he lay motionless, burning and bleeding from the hammer strike.

But he never felt as heavy as he did now, wrapped tightly in his fist.

His fingers press against the cold, solid metal. His teeth grind against each other as anger teases at his senses. He grasps at it, desperate for anything beyond the hollow, but it slips serenely from his grip.

He can't be mad at Kait or Del. They all knew the job. They all knew that no matter how good you were, how smart, how watchful, if your number came up, well, that was it. He wanted to know what happened but he couldn't bear it yet. The burden of proof in his hand was heavy enough, he couldn't move if he knew more than that yet.

He tries again for anger.

If he'd been a better father… If he'd suggested a different way to dispose of the crystallized locusts… If he'd gone with them… But it doesn't stick. Ifs cannot keep anger where hollow resides.

He tries again, with blame. Jinn should have backed their play. She should have helped them. Helped him when he needed it beyond a patch-up in the medbay. She should have done everything to support Baird.

It burns white-hot before hollow snuffs it out.

Marcus regrets.

He hates having lived this long.

Carlos. Tai. Maria. Dom. Adam. Anya. Bernie.

A handful of names amongst dozens he's outlived. Been saved by.

Plus one more.

The spokes of the hard metal bite into his gloved hand, pressing relentlessly back against his iron grip.

_Plus one more._

It should be him.

He remembers the labor it took to get to seven and a half months. The days and nights watching the most amazing and powerful woman reduce herself to a worried, panicked mess. The treatments endured as the world watched the First Minister dance between fearless leader and optimistic mother. The pains and fear at the early contractions.

The relief at the sound of crying.

The joy of six months, 12 months, 3 years, 7...

It should be him.

His free hand smothers his face. Tears bypass the offending hand, resolute on their trails down his cheeks.

The last hammer of dawn should have killed him.

No.

He should have stayed podded. A bullet to the head would be merciful to this.

The fringes of his senses tell him they landed. The eternal Raven flight ended with a bounce and shuffling. Sound. Light. Moving.

His body responds, lifting him from the seat and towards the opening. Blobs shuffle far ahead. One keeps turning to face his direction till the blob beside it stops it.

Piercing static fills his ear and the knowing question rips his heart out.

"Where's JD?"


End file.
